


Synonyms for Drunk

by SLWalker



Series: Midnight Blue [7]
Category: Midnight Blue - Fandom, due South
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1991: <i>The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Mike was going to get wasted. </i> Canada Day '91.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Synonyms for Drunk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ember_reads](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ember_reads).



The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Mike was going to get wasted.

Torched, plastered, pickled, soused, _drunk_.

He hummed to himself as he stripped off his tunic, pausing a moment to sniff it and make a face. Okay, yeah, people loved to see their Mounties decked out in review order, Mike got that, but parading in wool in July? At least he could ask for comp for the dry cleaning, though he had a feeling Russ would just eyeball him and make him pay it out of pocket anyway.

It still wasn't enough to ruin his good mood. He had a _house_ , which he had been too busy working on last year to throw any Canada Day cookouts at. He had the prettiest woman in Nipawin and he'd _married her_ (he was still boggling about that one). He had a whole mess of high quality steaks, a brand new grill to cook them on, potatoes and corn and potato salad and a stupid amount of beer. It was one of the few times of the year Mike bothered with the effort and expense of getting blasted. Sandy had drawn the short straw and had to go on duty, and Russ had drawn the other short straw and had to stay sober as backup, and Mitch's wife was going to be there so he wouldn't likely be allowed to get too hammered either, but Mike? Mike was going to get so very loaded.

He finished peeling out of his uniform, wrinkling his nose at it, then hopped into a shower that was just that bit too brisk, washing off the sweat and road dust and heat and shivering all the way through it. When he went back outside in his shorts and a t-shirt to set up a table or two and get everything ready, the hot sun on his chilled skin felt almost euphoric.

Kind of a shame he couldn't convince his rook to come over. Turnbull was slowly calming down, it seemed, but maintained a firm distance. Kept himself shielded in politeness, though Mike didn't fail to note the way he would turn kinda red and light up when he was praised for a job well done. And hey, he was doing well. Really well. Never made the same mistakes twice, and even the ones he made once weren't critical.

Then again, maybe it was better Turnbull _didn't_ come over; God knew how he would react to seeing his FTO get downright smashed. Mike thought maybe he'd feel let down or something, in that case.

Well, maybe some year when he wasn't planning on getting tanked. Which would be the year he drew the short straw or the other short straw and had to be available to maintain the right.

For now, though... for now, there was the sun, there was meat, there was beer, there was charcoal and it was good.

 

 

"Christ, Chase. You're _toasted_ ," Sandy finally said, after standing at the corner of the old farmhouse for long enough to catch Chase giving a touching rendition of his encounter with a black bear, a group campsite and fifty (or was it thirty?) church-going old ladies in various pastels.

"Sandy!" Chase beamed, lighting up like a roman candle. "I saved you a _steak_."

Sandy half expected the thoroughly trashed corporal to come over and give him a drunken hug, but it didn't happen. Severn was sneakily trying to come up from behind, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated, to liberate the bottle of beer from Chase's hand before it ended up all over the table.

Mitch was trying to get at the potato salad, but his wife swatted his hand without even looking at him. Cindy was sitting straddling a picnic bench of debatable repair, watching her husband in naked amusement, apparently having imbibed some herself. Severn's wife looked entirely amused, though she was the type of lady who didn't show it aside her eyes. Sandy's estimation of her went up ten-fold at the sight of the beer in her hand, though. Scattered throughout the huge yard was a bunch of people Sandy knew in passing; Cindy's relatives, some of their neighbors, a few of Severn's friends. He kind of wondered if Chase even knew who was here, given the utterly blitzed expression on his face.

Chase apparently noticed he was about to be deprived of his alcohol and pulled it back to his chest, eyeballing Severn. "Nu uh. I'm not on duty, I'm not done getting tipsy."

"I think you bypassed tipsy, Mike, and went right for stewed." Russ raised an eyebrow, though he didn't make another attempt for the beer.

"Stewed? What kinda slang is _that?_ " Chase staggered away, looking two seconds from teetering over, and then went to the grill. Which made everyone within eyeshot of him cringe in anticipation of some incendiary incident. "Stewed. Stewed. Makes me sound like some kinda... stew or something."

Sandy held a hand up as Chase got near the hot coals. "Hey, Corp, I'll get my own-- nevermind." Too late. Somehow, the drunken Mountie managed not to charcoal himself.

Chase walked back over in a not-entirely-straight line with the plate in hand, smugly. "Huh? Huh? Lookit this steak, Sandy. It came from the cow _yesterday_ , or at least, that's what the farmer said."

It did look like a good steak. Sandy had saved his lunch break specifically for this, and he took the plate, reaching down with his other hand to turn up the radio on his belt in case he got a call. "Thanks."

"I saved one for Turnbull, too, I mean, he can't worry too much about it because I know the farmer myself and the cow is certified clean and disease free. Or, was. Was." Chase seemed to muse on this for a long several moments, then frowned, a sort of little boy frown of consternation. Which didn't look half as weird as Sandy would have expected. "Was. Yeah. Because it's on your plate now."

Sandy looked past to Severn, mouthing 'how many?'

Severn pointed to the impressive row of beer bottles on the table, raising an eyebrow.

Sandy whistled, then covered for it by offering a pat to Chase's shoulder. "I'm sure he'll eat it tomorrow."

"You're gonna eat yours now, right?"

"Right."

"Okay. Good. Did I tell you about the time when these two fried guys went and dressed a deer they'd stunned by driving into it under the influence into their grandma's muumu and then it _woke up?_ " Chase asked, eyebrows up, beaming again. "C'mon, let me tell you about it, it's a _great_ story."

Sandy shrugged to himself and headed for the table. Company, food, story. It was good.

 

 

"You're going to hate yourself tomorrow," Cindy said, looking down at her husband with a grin.

The party was wound down, the few stragglers left killing the last of the beer and potato salad, but mostly it was quiet. And Mike had finally hit the end of his chatterbox mode, stretched out on the bench with his head resting between Cindy's knees, looking up at her lazy and disheveled.

"Hm mm," he answered, smiling at her upside down.

"Uh huh." She had a few herself, but nothing like he had. She didn't mind, though. Mike was a lot of fun when he was loaded. She combed through his hair with her fingers, watching him bliss out on the attention. "When you're hung over and you have to clean the yard before going to work..."

"You're a nurse, you'll fix me right up."

"You sound so sure."

"'Course I am, you're my wife." He grinned up at her, cheeky. "Huh? Right?"

"Right." Even if all she would be able to do was give him water, tylenol and try to get some of the yard fixed before he woke up. But she already knew that'd be enough for him. "You ready to go to bed yet?"

"Nah." Mike moved his head enough to nudge her knee with it, and she picked up petting again. "You're really pretty in the moon."

She thought about chasing him there anyway, then decided against it. She had a mellow Mike, a pretty, warm night and it was good.

 

 

"Sir? Are you feeling all right?" Turnbull asked, giving Mike a look that was sort of wary, sort of concerned.

Mike's head still ached a little, even after a ton of water and tylenol and a shower and cleaning his yard for an hour before laying back down. He knew he probably looked hung over, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Turnbull didn't realize that. "Yeah, I'm fine, rook." He offered a half-smile; more than that was just a _little_ beyond his reach right now. "Brought you a steak. Certified disease free, butchered two days ago, I know the farmer personally." He held up the foil-wrapped package, then offered it over.

"I... I hadn't expected..." Turnbull took it like he was less than sure about whether he should take it, then found his voice again as he carefully did. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome." Mike went to go and make himself a pot of coffee, in the vague hopes that it would kill the rest of the hangover. "How was yesterday?"

"Very quiet." Turnbull hadn't been on duty, since he wasn't off the books yet; Mike had no idea how he had spent his time.

He also knew Turnbull wouldn't likely volunteer any more than that. He set the coffee pot to brew, then watched it like a shark. "You know you're always welcome, right?"

The silence lingered well past awkward, then Turnbull said, "Thank you, sir. I wouldn't want to impose."

"It's not imposing if you're invited, right?" Mike shrugged. Admittedly, he had a feeling he'd be wise not to get so polluted with the rook in attendance, but it was a trade-off he'd make. "Just something to keep in mind, if you don't have anything else you wanna do on Canada Day."

There was another awkward pause, then he could all but _hear_ Turnbull nod, some note underlying his voice that could only be described as 'touched'. "I'll do so. Thank you."

Mike found that smile a little bit easier.

Yeah. That was good.


End file.
